Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget (2023) 
Director: Sam Fell
Screenwriters: Karey Kirkpatrick, John O’Farrell, Rachel Tunnard
Starring: Bella Ramsey, Thandiwe Newton, Zachary Levi, Imelda Staunton, Lynn Ferguson, David Bradley, Jane Horrocks, Romesh Ranganathan, Daniel Mays, Josie Sedgwick-Jones, Peter Serafinowicz, Nick Mohammed, Miranda Richardson

On the surface, the original Chicken Run (2000) was a fantastic children’s movie and a feat for animated films. It was 90 minutes of pure feathery fun and righteous chicken anger. The movie had impeccable comedic timing akin to Aardman Studio’s other works like Wallace and Gromit and Shaun the Sheep. These movies have a beating heart and soul that has stuck with children and adults alike because of their ability to wrap us in the warm hug of their respective worlds. And still, beneath it all lies something even deeper, something profound. For many millennials and cuspers, Chicken Run was an introduction to Marxism and revolution itself. 

As rebel chicken, Ginger (played by Julia Sawalha in 2000) rallies the hens against tyrannical farmers, she dares them to imagine a world governed only by their own will. “Don’t you get it?” she clucks, “There’s no morning headcount, no dogs, no farmers, no coops and keys, and no fences.” It’s a powerful cry for revolution – a call to rise up against injustice, no matter the cost. Though the film is filled with slapstick humor, its demand to rage against oppression transcends the children’s animation genre, cementing it as a powerful allegory for World War II and universal demands for human (and chicken) rights. 

Needless to say, the sequel, Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget, was highly anticipated by audiences and critics. Nearly 20 years after the original, the follow-up had big shoes to fill. What lessons would the new Chicken Run teach us? Perhaps something about the rise of fascism? Environmentalism? Maybe it would lead us to the answers we’ve all been searching for in these tumultuous times? Unfortunately, Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget takes more of a formulaic follow-up approach than broaching anything remotely groundbreaking. 

In this rendition, Ginger (Thandiwe Newton) and Rocky (Zachary Levi, replacing Mel Gibson) return, now living in an idyllic, poultry utopia. Though they are happy in their new homes, they are closed off from the rest of society. Their daughter, Molly (Bella Ramsey), takes after her mother and dreams of life bigger than their confined existence on the island. Soon, Molly escapes to the mainland and finds herself trapped in a chicken factory called Fun-Land Farm. Now, it’s up to the other chickens to break into the factory, a subversion from the previous film’s breakout. 

Dawn of the Nugget isn’t completely without charm. The animation is beautiful and bright, stepping away from the original film’s muted color palate to favor a more vibrant chicken paradise. Fun-Land Farm is garishly bright, showcasing the false promises of the deceptively named poultry plant. Even the heist-like stunts feel higher stakes and more elaborate. There are more hijinks, slipping, falling, and scrambling than ever. 

Though the scale feels dialled up to 11, the film is missing its original creativity and simplistic but resilient spirit that made it an instant classic. Dawn of the Nugget is much more concerned with simple tropes like breaking away from tradition and marching to the beat of your own drum than anything revolutionary. Its simple premise and resistance to taking risks – both thematically and comedically – make the 101-minute run feel like a bit of a slog. 

It’s a lot to ask of a film – to be both a succinct manifesto about the state of modern politics and revolutionary movements and a hokey comedy about chickens falling on their heads – but it has been done before. Perhaps the reason Dawn of the Nugget felt so flat is the enormous shadow its predecessor casts upon the film. And, in the 20 years in between the first and second editions of Ginger and Rocky’s story, we’ve had plenty of time to fill in the gaps on our own. Dawn of the Nugget is a fine movie to turn on for the kids on a Saturday afternoon, but turn on Chicken Run (2000) and you might just have a revolution on your hands. 

Score: 12/24

Recommended for you: Aardman Animation Movies 2000-2020 Ranked

Godzilla Minus One / Gojira -1.0 (2023)
Director: Takashi Yamazaki
Screenwriter: Takashi Yamazaki
Starring: Ryunosuke Kamiki, Minami Hamabe, Yuki Yamada, Munetaka Aoki, Hidetaka Yoshioka, Sakura Ando, Kuranosuke Sasaki, Mio Tanaka, Sae Nagatani

As visually polished and park-your-brain-at-the-door fun as the Hollywood Godzilla films are, they aren’t exactly overflowing with big ideas or thematic subtext. That’s what the Japanese Toho movies are for. Now, with their most famous character in a shared custody arrangement with Legendary Pictures that currently allows them to unleash a new Gojira film only in years that don’t include a competing US Monsterverse release, they’ve come out of the gate in 2023 with an absolute barnstormer.

In the final months of World War II, Koichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki), a kamikaze pilot deserter, witnesses the massacre of an engineering crew by an ancient dinosaur-like monster. As he returns to life in a bombed-out Tokyo recovering from the US Pacific Campaign, he gains a new family in Noriko (Minami Hamabe) and an adopted little girl. Soon the creature reappears, now mutated to a colossal size by radiation from nuclear weapons testing, and begins a new path of destruction across a country still in turmoil. 

Refreshingly for a kaiju monster movie, the human element is at the forefront of the filmmakers’ minds and, as evidenced by movies ranging from Jaws to Independence Day, it pays dividends to spend so much time on character development early on so you actually care when their world starts going to hell. The film highlights an unconventional family unit made up of unmarried domestic partners and an unrelated child rescued from the streets, which seems a little anachronistic at first (and Koichi’s domestic setup does give his colleagues pause the first time they visit him at home) but there must have been so many similar relationships formed out of necessity in the immediate aftermath of a costly war. This group of protagonists including military personnel, scientists and civilians of various stripes is perhaps the most compelling in any Godzilla movie. Hugely gratifyingly, everyone – but especially the guilt-ridden Koichi and his insecure partner Noriko, who both need to decide to truly live their new lives – has their own story to tell and their demons to face. 

In addition to often leaving the human element buried under rubble, the Hollywood Godzilla movies also don’t always manage to convey the sense of scale behind all the CG gleam and the dazzle of environmental effects. That’s never a problem here when we’re placed on a level with nuanced and grounded characters going through a waking nightmare and seeing the monster’s impact in their immediate vicinity.

Godzilla is no longer portrayed by a guy stomping around in a rubber suit, but even with modern VFX everything has weight and feels pleasingly tactile, a slow but inevitable doom on the horizon. The VFX teams are clearly proud of their work as aside from a brief prologue straight out of Jurassic Park, the Godzilla action takes place in broad daylight and is never obscured by a choppy edit. Even when he’s not on screen, his ominous presence is felt; an existential threat evoking recent atrocities that requires a nation trying to rebuild to once again make an immense sacrifice. Perhaps even more than the visuals, what gives these set pieces such impact is the punchy sound design that rattles you to your core.

It’s incredible how well the film’s modest budget (under $15million) has been utilised here, director Takashi Yamazaki also supervising the visual effects as he did with the last big screen Toho monster blockbuster Shin Godzilla (2016). There is very little sign of obvious fix-it-in-post work and the real in-camera elements, the subtle VFX used to extend and enhance, and the more explicitly fantastical, blend together beautifully.

Over the decades, directors behind Godzilla movies have alternated between casting the big scaly guy as an unknowable, nigh-on indestructible force (see Godzilla ‘54, and Godzilla 2000) or as a reluctant defender of people and the planet from far worse threats (Invasion of the Astro-Monster, King of the Monsters) and something in-between. Here, Godzilla is terrifying again; pointedly bringing with him the power not only to smash buildings and tear apart warships but the threat of further nuclear devastation, his distinctive dorsal spines now extending row-by-row to indicate a countdown to him unleashing his atomic breath.

The powder is kept dry on Akira Ifukube’s instantly recognisable original theme music until we see a sequence that directly lifts perhaps the most iconic image from the original 1954 movie. Naoki Sato’s new score melds really well with the classic music that is sampled and adds to the gut-vibrating richness of the soundscape as a whole.

Militarism and the tragic waste of war is rightly framed as abhorrent, and Japan’s uncomfortable place caught between the US and the Soviet Union’s post-WWII battle for territory is an interesting point highlighted in the script, but the film stops short of deeply interrogating the feelings of the late 1940s Japanese citizens about the right-wing nationalist ideology and the code of honour that demanded death before surrender that their country so recently operated under. This, along with an (if not predictable then) unsurprising final act are still minor quibbles when everything else is so well executed. 

Godzilla Minus One has a very strong claim to being the best kaiju movie in 70 years. It gives an iconic Japanese monster his power back by combining grounded characterisation, some incisive thematic exploration, and technical excellence. The American Godzilla movies are fun and all, but this is proof not only that you can use dumb spectacle to articulate something really smart but that Japan’s greatest metaphor in pop culture is still awe-inspiring and more relevant than ever. The major Hollywood studios need to take note of this film’s worldwide success and maybe start greenlighting more modest genre efforts with real personality and something to say. 

Score: 22/24

Recommended for you: Showa Era Godzilla Movies Ranked

Maestro (2023)
Director: Bradley Cooper
Screenwriter: Bradley Cooper, Josh Singer
Starring: Bradley Cooper, Carey Mulligan, Matt Bomer, Maya Hawke, Sarah Silverman, Sam Nivola

When On the Waterfront opened in 1954, its score gained just as much critical praise as any other element of the film – which isn’t a light feat considering it won eight Oscars. Amazingly, it would remain Leonard Bernstein’s only contribution to cinema. At least, his only contribution that was intended to be part of a film – the music he composed for West Side Story is probably some of his most iconic work, but it was composed for the stage rather than for the screen. For a character as big as Bernstein with a mark on American culture of similar stature, it’s amazing to think that it has taken this long for his second mark on cinema to be made.

Bradley Cooper writes, directs, and stars in Maestro as the man himself. Cooper’s belief in his own ability to multitask is clearly quite strong, and its strength is only matched by his ambition to make a film that spans a life as long and as rich as Bernstein’s. We meet him as an old man who has already done it all, and then we take a step back into his mid-twenties in the early 1940s.

Maestro is a rare case in which style becomes substance. Bradley Cooper’s performance as Bernstein changes to fit each historical era that the film visits – he is more stagey and theatrical in the 40s, and looser and, seemingly, more improvisational in the 70s. It’s not only Cooper’s performance that changes – the cinematography changes to suit the era it’s portraying in more ways than just the use of black and white footage for the older sequences.

As Bernstein himself ages with constantly shifting makeup and facial prosthetics, the look and feel of the world around him informs us as to when it is all taking place by becoming a part of the era it’s portraying. When it’s showing us something from the 40s, it could easily be dropped into a Charlie Chaplin film, whereas the shots that take place in the 70s could be mistaken for Deliverance. In the few glimpses we get into the 80s, it has the atmosphere of a cheesy Miami-set disposable action movie.

The only aspect that isn’t changing and reinventing itself throughout is Felicia, Bernstein’s wife portrayed by Carey Mulligan. Mulligan’s performance is in such stark contrast to Cooper’s that it accentuates both of their characters – Felicia is caring and stable while Leonard is passionate and erratic. They aren’t compatible as lovers, but they share a warmth towards each other that neither takes for granted.

Bernstein is such a flawed character that, if it wasn’t for Felicia’s stability beside him, it would be hard to empathise with why he makes such chaotic life choices at every available opportunity. Maestro never advocates for those choices or attempts to put Bernstein in a light that he isn’t worthy of – it’s as critical of him as it needs to be – but seeing how quickly his personality and his life can change does go some way to creating some relatability for how he could become so self-destructive. A kind light is encouraged by the wealth of context that we’re afforded.

Of course, Maestro isn’t breaking new ground in telling quite a personal story in contrast to an otherwise well-crafted public image. Tár even beat it to be the first one about a conductor to be released in the 2020s. The best comparison for Maestro, however, is probably in something it’s the opposite of, The Greatest Showman. They’re both films about Americans who broke new ground in their respective eras – the former as the first American to lead a symphony orchestra and the latter as the American (P. T. Barnum) who popularised the circus. What makes Maestro and The Greatest Showman so different, though, is that Maestro never attempts to glorify its subject under the pretence that his achievements should outweigh his character. It celebrates his art while retaining the integrity of his flaws.

What it all amounts to is a biopic that is long overdue but served well by its existence now that it is finally here. Bradley Cooper has managed to make Maestro a thoughtful depiction of Leonard Bernstein’s life and character, but also of the world that shaped him and the people who were around him for it all.

Score: 17/24

Written by Rob Jones

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Wonka (2023)
Director: Paul King
Screenwriters: Simon Farnaby, Paul King
Starring: Timothee Chalamet, Calah Lane, Keegan-Michael Key, Paterson Joseph, Olivia Colman, Matt Lucas, Matthew Baynton, Tom Davis, Hugh Grant

Willy Wonka is an enigma. In Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), the original adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 novel “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” we don’t learn much about him, other than his desire to find an heir to his candy empire, as well as the cruel delight he takes in teaching naughty children a lesson. Wonka is charming and a little unhinged, paranoid from all of the years he has spent locked away in his factory, making sure no one gets their hands on the secret to his out-of-this-world sweets. With a devilish smile and a playful yet devious twinkle in his eye, actor Gene Wilder infuses Wonka with dimension, but we never dig too deep. He’s a nut that we never quite crack, and he works as a character because of that. There’s a reason why the original novel is called “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” after all – at the end of the day, it’s Charlie’s journey. Wilder’s performance hints at the layers inside of Wonka that we don’t need to unpeel, but nevertheless know are there. Wonka, the spiritual prequel to the 1971 musical classic, helmed by Paddington director Paul King, does unpeel those layers, but what’s found underneath is a deeply disappointing origin story that lacks the magic and edge that the original (and even Tim Burton’s 2005 remake) has in spades. Touted as a fun-for-the-whole family Christmas classic in the making, Wonka simply doesn’t have enough sparkle to ever hope to achieve that distinction.

Despite its tagline, which insists we will find out how “Willy became Wonka,” Timothée Chalamet’s version of the famous candy maker and magician doesn’t actually become anything. He just kind of already is.

The film begins with Willy, bright-eyed and bursting with optimism, atop a ship mast, where he begins his “I Want” song, “Hatful of Dreams”. Willy arrives in an unnamed city, fresh off the boat, ready to share his chocolate with the world, as his mother (Sally Hawkins) always hoped he would. Willy is earnest and determined, living on nothing but a dream. But the Galeries Gourmet is not what Willy initially imagined it would be. Instead of spreading his creations, he faces opposition and sabotage from three greedy chocolate makers, including Arthur Slugworth (Paterson Joseph), who will soon become his arch-nemesis. Willy then gets tricked into indentured servitude because he cannot read and fails to read the small print on his contract with Mrs. Scrubitt, played by Olivia Colman doing her best over the top Madame Thénardier impression. Aided by Noodle (Calah Lane), a fellow indentured servant and orphan who becomes Willy’s assistant, as well as the rest of the workers, Wonka bids to outsmart the trio and earn the freedom of himself and his friends.

Timothée Chalamet might be the only saving grace in the film, contrary to early assumptions that he may have been miscast. At times he’s charming, funny and endearing, but his performance is constantly in flux and dependent on the material and direction he’s given. When his jokes don’t land, his performance falls flat, even though he is clearly committed to the bit. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to do an impression of Gene Wilder, but he also doesn’t make the character enough of his own to really stand out. This isn’t his fault; he isn’t given much to work with.

All of the obstacles Willy encounters are external. Whether it’s Mrs. Scrubitt’s dishonest business practices, the antics of the greedy chocolatiers, or Hugh Grant’s Oompa-Loompa hijinks, the plot is always happening to Willy. He is almost entirely a reactionary character, and this is a problem in a movie that is supposed to be an origin story, the story of how he became who he is. It would have been nice if he actively participated in the narrative…

Willy’s desire to share his inventions with the world just as his mother hoped is sweet and admirable, but it simply isn’t enough to drive what we see. The writers, King and Paddington 2 co-writer Simon Farnaby (who also appears in Wonka as Basil), were backed into a corner considering Willy Wonka is a recluse by the time we meet him in the original movie. Telling that story would certainly be more interesting, but not very uplifting, so the filmmakers sidestep it entirely. As a result, there doesn’t seem to be any connection between Chalamet’s Wonka and Wilder’s.

Demystifying a character that works the best when we don’t know everything about him is a non-starter (as proven in Star Wars spin-off Solo), but the filmmakers didn’t give much thought to the supporting characters either. Lane and Chalamet work well together, and their friendship is a bright spot in the movie, but most of the supporting characters are so thinly drawn they barely register as real people. As for Hugh Grant’s Lofty, an Oompa Loompa who has been stealing Willy’s candy because he was excommunicated from Oompa Land until he can get back all of the chocolate that Willy stole, he’s surprisingly in very little of the film. The motion capture is jarring and unconvincing, but at least Grant’s contempt for the role, which he has expressed in several recent interviews, doesn’t show on screen.

Wonka, like the original film adaptation, is a musical, but not a very good one. The songs, written by Neil Hannon, King, Farnaby, and Joby Talbot, are unremarkable and lack passion, which is a shame considering Hannon’s exceptional work with The Divine Comedy. The songs in Wonka, especially Willy’s “Hatful of Dreams,” pale in comparison to those written by Howard Ashman, the songwriting genius behind the iconic tunes of The Little Mermaid (1989) and Beauty and the Beast (1991). By comparison, “Hatful of Dreams” lacks interiority or reflection. Perhaps the biggest faux pas in this regard is how Willy’s desire to sell chocolates in the hopes of reconnecting with the spirit of his late mother is barely mentioned. Songs in musicals should, in theory, take place when characters are so full of emotion that words no longer feel enough. And then, they must dance when singing doesn’t feel enough. But nothing drives the songs in this movie and they don’t feel needed. They are boring and directionless. Chalamet’s voice is fine, if a little weak and thin in places, but it’s worth noting that his best performance is when he sings “Pure Imagination”, a song not originally written for this film.

Wonka also strips away any of the melancholy or dark comedy found both in the 1971 movie and Roald Dahl’s overall work. The 1971 film feels a lot like “Alice in Wonderland” in that it is a dreamlike and slightly menacing descent into a magical world, but Wonka smooths all those edges out. As a result, the movie is sickly sweet and above all, nice. Which is ironic, because while the filmmakers were busy adding uplifting lyrics to “Pure Imagination” and simplifying the orchestrations, themes, and social commentaries of the 1971 film, they also made time to make several offensive and outdated fat jokes, aimed at Keegan Michael Key’s Chief of Police, who is dressed in a ridiculous fat suit and gets fatter and fatter the more he indulges in the sweets the greedy chocolate makers use to bribe him with. Using fatness as a shorthand for gluttony and greed, and having an actor who is not fat perform fatness, is hurtful and mean-spirited. It’s hard to believe such an antiquated trope is included in a film made in 2023 – especially one made about the wonderful taste of sweet treats – and it sours the viewing experience. For all of the niceness this movie tries desperately to exude, it makes sure to keep one of the only things from the original film that actually needed updating.

If Wonka is trying to say something, it’s hard to know what that something is. The film plays with themes of oppression, poverty, and greed, but doesn’t do much with them. It would be a losing battle to assume that Western filmmaking would trust its young audience enough to sprinkle in some adult themes, but it is equally weird to mention them in passing and not engage with them. Believing in your dreams and sharing those dreams with others should feel like magic, but the film doesn’t allow us to know these characters enough to genuinely care about them or their dreams.

The sets also leave something to be desired. When Wonka first unveils his factory in the original film, it’s a technicolor dream, calling to mind the reveal of the land of Oz in 1939’s The Wizard of Oz. It is bright and colorful and a little surreal. Wonka feels like a step down in comparison, and the filmmakers’ decision to set a good chunk of the film in the Galeries Gourtmet makes the world of Wonka feel like it’s just floating in space surrounded by nothing. It is small and claustrophobic.

Prequels bait us with the promise that we will get to see some of our most beloved characters become the people we love and remember from our childhoods. In Wonka, Willy may be younger and brighter and less mad than he will soon become, but if you are counting on the film to show you how that happens, you will be very disappointed. Instead, Wonka is a barely passable movie musical that is so sugary it ends up choking on its own sweetness.

Score: 12/24

Recommended for you: ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’ (1971) Earned a Spot in Joseph Wade’s 10 Best Films of All Time

Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain (2023)
Director: Paul Briganti
Screenwriters: Martin Herlihy, John Higgins, Ben Marshall
Starring: Martin Herlihy, John Higgins, Ben Marshall, Conan O’Brien, John Goodman, Bowen Yang

October 9th, 2021. The first episode of the forty-seventh season of ‘Saturday Night Live’ and the debut of Please Don’t Destroy with their short video ‘Hard Seltzer.’ Consisting of three New York comedians, Ben Marshall, John Higgins, and Martin Herlihy, the troupe almost instantly skyrocketed to fame after only four years together as a group. Now, after three seasons with SNL, the trio bring us their first feature film Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain. SNL stars like Dan Aykroyd, Eddie Murphy and Tina Fey have all gone on to bigger things, though the results are not always so pretty – some acts have failed to make a splash and some sketches that were turned into films have flopped. So the question is, how will Please Don’t Destroy fair?

The film stars the three comics as themselves, the exception being that they live, work and do everything together. When they realise that they don’t like their life trajectory, they set off to find a gold treasure that is rumoured to be buried in the nearby mountain.

Unlike the fictional versions of themselves in the film, it is clear that the trajectory of the boys’ popularity is one that not only they believe in, but in which many others do too. After only three years on the show, they earned a credit in SNL’s opening montage. Credited as “A Film by Please Don’t Destroy”, it marks the first time since 2008 that a recurring segment has its own credit in the opening; a reward that was not even afforded to the insanely popular The Lonely Island. Equally so, the opportunity to write and star in a film as themselves shows the belief that many have in the popularity of Please Don’t Destroy.

The movie opens with a narration from John Goodman explaining the lore of the titular treasure; a bust of Marie Antoinette, worth $100 million, was hidden in Foggy Mountain by French explorer Jean Pierre La Roche and the key, a golden compass, was found by the three boys as children. Flashforward fifteen years and we meet the Ben, John and Martin of today through a sequence in which they prepare to make breakfast and go to work, a sequence of events which continuously takes hilarious left turns including roller skates and underage drinking.

The film then smash cuts to Ben’s father in the form of Conan O’Brien, the owner of the store that the three work at, screaming “where the fuck were you!? You’re three hours late!” The story begins to unravel. We learn that Ben wishes to earn his father’s approval and take over the store, whereas Martin is trying to keep his girlfriend happy by going through with an adult baptism. As for John, he has no plans nor prospects. Worried about losing his friends, he proposes that they hunt for the treasure.

The story, in premise, structure and character development is far from original. The friendship of the three is predictably tested, and there comes a point where it seems as though they can’t move past their issues but in the end they remain best friends. It’s a tried and tested formula that, though not necessarily bad, is instantly recognisable. Ben, John and Martin’s sense of humour is far from traditional and so, to deliver it in the form of a traditional story allows for more accessible viewing for new viewers, all the while keeping much of the same humour that fans have come to know and love.

Similar to the writing and performance style they have become known for, the editing of the film is very in line with that of their regular sketches. Fast paced and manic, the editing allows for maximum engagement and a whole lot of laughs through unexpected sight gags and jump cuts.

By far the biggest challenge for PDD in this film was to take their style of comedy (which is usually told in three to five minute sketches) and stretch it out into a full feature film. Though there are little segments of the film that feel like their own individual sketches, they keep recurring and eventually combine together to tell a nicely intertwined story. From park rangers who wish to steal the treasure for themselves to cults, or John falling in love to a particularly sassy hawk, all of these come together well to tell the full story. It is in this sense that Foggy Mountain feels closer to traditional silent comedies like Harold Lloyd’s Safety Last, a film that similarly tells many little stories in order to make one complete narrative.

This film does not, however, feel as though it will work for those who are not familiar with Please Don’t Destroy or who are not fans of that type of humour. The group’s eccentric form of delivery, performance and writing may distance some audience members. The Treasure of Foggy Mountain is a movie made for the fans.

With their feature film debuts, Ben Marshall, John Higgins and Martin Herlihy bring their A-game in every single aspect of production. The jokes come quick and fast, and the situations they put themselves into are nothing short of ridiculous. Playing themselves, the three bring their likeable personalities and adorable chemistry to craft a trio of characters that are not only hilarious but who we care for and whose company we love to be a part of. Though every cast member does a fine job, it is when one or all of Please Don’t Destroy are on screen that we laugh the hardest. Moreso, they make it seem natural, as though comedy is second nature to them.

With The Treasure of Foggy Mountain, Please Don’t Destroy may not be making unforgettable characters or legendary films like fellow SNL alum movies The Blues Brothers and Wayne’s World, but by presenting themselves as the heroes of the story they create a movie that represents their brand and elevates it in the process.

The Treasure of Foggy Mountain is a wonderful new addition to PDD’s growing library, and is evidence of their popularity and talent. Proving themselves as one of the best comedy acts in all of the United States – better yet, the world – one can only hope that their sophomore effort will be as good as Foggy Mountain.

Score: 18/24

May December (2023)
Director: Todd Haynes
Screenwriters: Samy Burch, Alex Mechanik
Starring: Natalie Portman, Julianne Moore, Charles Melton, Gabriel Chung, Elizabeth Yu

Todd Haynes’ films are hard to pin down. Ever the subversive, the renegade of the new queer cinema movement has a proven track record of destabilizing conventional wisdoms surrounding everything from sex to gender to celebrity to domesticity and the American nuclear family. Unafraid to wear his influences on his sleeve, and to subject them to satire and scrutiny, Haynes wields homage, melodrama, and allegory in his deconstruction of the social, political, and aesthetic contexts in which his characters dwell. His is a cinema of transgression that gets its teeth from a sort of reflexive formalism, for his films frequently call attention to their own artifice. 

Take 2002’s Far From Heaven, for example. In many ways, the film, which centers on a 1950s suburban housewife whose secret affair threatens the sanguine domestic lifestyle she is expected to uphold, is a straight-up remake of Douglas Sirk’s 1955 melodrama All That Heaven Allows, complete with all the soap and glitziness that defined Hays Code-era Hollywood. The catch is that Haynes’ film is, nonetheless, thoroughly modern in its details—by peppering in subject matter that would have been considered too taboo back in the 50s (even for Sirk, who was considered a rebel in his time), namely interracial and homosexual relationships, Haynes turns the entire genre on its head. Films such as Far From Heaven demonstrate Haynes’ unique ability to firmly situate his work relative to established cinematic traditions—and to then boldly defy them. In this way, Todd Haynes is a filmmaker who always seems to have his finger on the pulse, his films conversing with the past to illuminate the present. 

The present unto which May December, Haynes’ latest, arrives feels particularly elusive—and, fittingly, so does the film. Written by Samy Burch and loosely inspired by the public scandal surrounding Mary Kay Letourneau, the screenplay orbits three central characters: Gracie Atherton-Yoo (Julianne Moore), a suburban pariah who was once the subject of a tabloid frenzy surrounding her predatory sexual involvement with a 13-year-old boy; Joe Atherton-Yoo (Charles Melton), the boy, now in his 30s and married with children to Gracie; and Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman), a B-list actress who comes to study Gracie and her family in preparation to play her in a movie about the scandal. 

On first glance, such a premise seems tailor-made for the Netflix-patented true-crime-content-machine; and yet May December cleverly co-opts these vapid true-crime precepts, and our twisted attendance to them. Where Far From Heaven leverages melodrama to challenge the genre’s largely sanitized depiction of domestic life in the 1950s, May December weaponizes viewers’ learned appetite for sensationalism to unravel the tabloid mythologies that form around deviant crimes and their perpetrators—and which often exploit the victims. 

Portman’s Elizabeth is the doorway through which Haynes instantly implicates the viewer. Her morbid curiosity to get to the bottom of Gracie and Joe’s strange dynamic largely matches our own. However, as she ingratiates herself among the family, it quickly becomes clear that Elizabeth’s intentions are far more perverse. As Gracie’s mask begins to slip, so too does Elizabeth’s, revealing her obsessive, megalomaniacal fantasy of coveting, or perhaps recreating, Gracie’s and Joe’s lived experience. The ensuing dissonance, heightened by the melodramatic register in which the film operates, not only makes for an unnaturalness that is often quite funny (Marcelo Zarvos’s ostentatious score is a big part of this), but it also makes space for thorny ethical questions surrounding spectatorship, representation, autonomy, and consent—none of which feel overly didactic. 

Instead, in true Haynes fashion, ambiguities stay ambiguous, and the viewer is left to dwell in the gray areas. Neither patronizing nor flattering these characters, Haynes complicates prevailing assumptions surrounding Gracie and Joe by lending them both a degree of agency, and in doing so undermines whatever vague suggestion is made toward a simple sociological explanation for their relationship (e.g. personality disorders, abuse begetting abuse). Actors and outcasts alike, these are characters whose identities are defined by performance, whether of normalcy, security, sincerity, or innocence. Like the many mirrors Haynes frames them in, Portman, Moore, and, perhaps most impressively, Melton reflect and belie their characters’ superficial personas. 

May December comes at a strange moment in time when the popularity of true-crime content feels at odds with flattened conceptions of moral goodness and badness in popular media. What makes the film feel particularly incisive and contemporary—infinitely more so than the titles it is destined to be algorithmically paired with on the Netflix home screen—are the ways in which it converses with this moment and indeed the viewer. Haynes’ latest is, once again, hard to pin down; but it is even harder to forget. 

Score: 22/24

May December is nominated for 4 Golden Globes.

Written by Connell Oberman

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It’s a Wonderful Knife (2023)
Director: Tyler MacIntyre
Screenwriter: Michael Kennedy
Starring: Jane Widdop, Joel McHale, Justin Long, Jess McLeod, Katherine Isabelle, Cassandra Naud

One has to wonder if a review for a film titled It’s A Wonderful Knife needs any introduction, but one must be written regardless. If you think it might have some twist to what the title would suggest, please allay those fears: it’s exactly what you think it is. Knife is a slasher take on It’s A Wonderful Life, the 1946 Frank Capra film starring Jimmy Stewart, a man who wishes his life never existed and through visiting an alternate timeline at Christmas, comes to appreciate what he had. Here we have a play on the same thing, with Jimmy Stewart being replaced by Jane Widdop’s Winnie, who stopped the Angel Falls masked killer one year before, and when ending up in a timeline where she never existed, finds the killer still on the loose, now with over 25 kills under his belt. If Winnie doesn’t stop the killer before the end of the night, she’ll never get back to her home world.

When you realise that Michael Kennedy also wrote the screenplay to Christopher Landon’s 2020 slasher film Freaky, a slasher sendup of classic Lindsay Lohan/Jamie Lee Curtis film Freaky Friday, you know what you’re in for. It’s a film that isn’t afraid to lean into the film it’s stealing its storyline from. It’s going to be pretty campy, silly in parts following teen outsiders coming together in the strangest of circumstances, with a decent production budget, and everyone knows what they’re doing. There’s never an attempt to be anything it isn’t and there are a few people who overdo the acting for the sheer joy and fun of it. Case in point, horror veteran Justin Long as the smarmy corporate businessman Henry Waters, doing his best capitalist megalomaniac impression. It’s overdone to a Matthew Lillard Thirteen Ghosts level, but so good for it. As the kids would say, he understood the assignment.

The cinematography from Nicholas Piatnik is great, full of christmas lights managing to set off the darkness well. It’s a film of contrasts, of light and dark, of neon greed shining out in a world that has forgotten hope and faith. In a film like this which is, despite the bloody slayings, warm and cosy, the atmosphere is perfectly captured. Of course, congratulations also go to the art direction by Louisa Birkin, and set dressing by Matt Carson and Jan Sikora for helping Piatnik get the lighting right with the practicals. It’s a wonderfully cohesive film in terms of its visual aesthetic, and when the blood hits the snow and the white costume of the killer, the blood is dark and visceral, which only works in contrast to the vibrant lighting. It’s a gorgeous looking film.

It’s a Wonderful Knife also isn’t afraid to go the whole way with its anti-capitalist statement. Its whole sentiment is that greed and complicit non-action in the thuggish, brutal ways to establish corporate dominance is not only manifest in physical actions, but is a kind of mental virus, capable of taking over the minds of those watching. It preys on grief. It preys on when we are at our lowest. Even those vehemently opposed to megalomaniacal corporations taking advantage of the lower classes still order from Amazon on occasion. In this way, Knife manages to take criticism of capitalist greed further than other films which might otherwise just have a statement of ‘capitalism bad’ as their fundamental premise.

But despite all this praise, there are parts that aren’t fantastic on a technical front. A few moments are very on-the-nose with their dialogue, expositionally overdoing the points we already know. The first kill is badly done, seeming like it’s cut to hide any effects work that they apparently haven’t done. Either that or it’s just badly cut. And even though Justin Long is perfectly embodying the smarmy businessman, one could say it’s overdone even past the point of campiness; overdoing an overdone performance. It’s how you take it.

So it isn’t perfect. Perhaps the messages are heavy handed, as subtle as a candy cane to the throat. But who cares? It’s not the greatest film in the world, but the main cast is great, the visuals are very Hallmark, and it’s got a cute ending. So on a cold night, if you’re fed up with the regular Christmas films, this 90 minute blast might just hit the spot for some holiday horror hooliganism.

Score: 16/24

Wish (2023)
Directors: Chris Buck, Fawn Veerasunthorn
Screenwriters: Jennifer Lee, Allison Moore
Starring: Ariana DeBose, Chris Pine, Alan Tudyk, Angelique Cabral, Victor Garber, Natasha Rothwell, Jennifer Kumiyama, Harvey Guillén, Evan Peters, Ramy Youssef, Jon Rudnitsky

One hundred years of Disney. How does one possibly celebrate such an occasion? The little studio that begun with animated movies about a cartoon mouse (and rabbit) almost one hundred years ago now exists as a behemoth of the entertainment industry, owning half of Hollywood as well as the famed Disneyland and Disneyworld theme parks. With so much power, so much history and so many controversies, what could the company plan for their 100th birthday party release Wish that could possibly pay homage to such a legacy?

After undergoing a five year hiatus from releasing original animated movies between 2016’s Moana and 2021’s Raya and the Last Dragon, Disney have gone back to what they do best, what they are most known for, animation. They have returned to their roots in the past few years and released animated pictures like Raya, Encanto, and Strange World, to varying degrees of success. 

Wish finds itself set in the wonderful kingdom of Rosas, which is ruled by its king Magnifico (Chris Pine). King Magnifico performs a yearly ritual in which once someone turns 18, they can pass their greatest wish onto him and he will protect it and potentially allow it to come true one day. However, once Asha (Ariana DeBose) discovers that Magnifico’s intentions may not be as pure as they seem, she realises that she must do whatever she can to stop him. Even wishing upon a star. 

As is probably obvious from the story of a young girl wishing upon a star, the film finds itself heavily inspired by the famed Disney tune “When You Wish Upon a Star”, which originally featured in Pinocchio but has since become Disney’s signature song. Much like this little reference to the past of the company, the film is also filled to the brim with references that show the journey of Disney from then to now. 

It’s a good idea in scope; a nice way to celebrate the history of the studio whilst pushing forward with the new. This is, however, the only facet of the movie that feels at all genuine.

Whilst Disney were patting themselves on the back for how great their company used to be, they forgot to put heart into any other aspects of Wish. Similar to the hand-drawn animation style that the film attempts to replicate, much of Wish is flat and one dimensional.

This disingenuity is most evident in the film’s characters. The main character Asha (voiced by DeBose in perhaps the only memorable vocal performance of the entire film) is given a bit more depth and personality, but the side characters make it clear what was most important to Disney in the making of this film. The supporting cast of Asha’s family, friends and sidekicks is upwards of ten people, all of whom are of varying races, genders and sizes, placing equality, diversity and inclusivity at the forefront of the film to showcase the company’s core values. At least, what the company would like you to think are their core values. This becomes painstakingly obvious through the number “Knowing What I Know Now”, in which the film makes a point to show the differences in the characters through their blocking.

The issue is, these characters are given so little to do and have such little depth that we simply do not care about a single one of them. Though the filmmakers would like us to believe that these are beliefs, values and causes that the studio care about, they do almost nothing to convince us of that fallacy. Instead, the little bit of character that Asha’s friends are afforded is that each of them are inspired by the dwarfs in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. This once again proves that what Disney cares about the most is patting themselves on the back.

Wish essentially only exists as a form of corporate self-fellatio that is as insufferable to watch as it is to write about.

Coming in at only ninety-five minutes, the centenary celebration of Walt Disney Studios moves along at a breakneck pace, showing us that even the execs up at Disney HQ wanted this one to be over just as quickly as we did. This simultaneously illustrates just how little care was put into the story aspects of the film and how Wish is really just one big advertisement for the company that made it. Come the end of the film, a character asks how they could possibly keep the magic of the Kingdom of Rosas alive, to which another responds “easy, just keep wishing.” What Disney are really saying is “keep buying tickets.”

Just as one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, it must be said that among the garbage there are some nuggets of gold in Wish. The story has a really good idea underpinning it, and the film offers a nice opportunity to create a full-circle moment for the “wish upon a star” fable that Disney is essentially built upon. Going back to the hand-drawn aesthetic is also a nice touch, as is making the film a musical. Given more time, care and passion, Wish could have been something special. All it needed was some heart. The lack thereof in the final product tells us more about the company that made it than anything in Wish ever could. 

Wish is a hollow and lazy picture that feeds its audiences the propaganda of Disney, only this time they aren’t even hiding it with the usual magic that pervades throughout their output. Though the kids seeing this film will undoubtedly enjoy it, they deserve better. 

Score: 7/24

Napoleon (2023)
Director: Ridley Scott
Screenwriter: David Scarpa
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Vanessa Kirby, Tahar Rahim, Rupert Everett, Paul Rhys

Almost a quarter of a century after his swords and sandals epic Gladiator became a critically acclaimed cultural phenomenon and Oscars Best Picture winner, Ridley Scott re-teams with one of its stars – one of this generation’s leading actors and a multi-time Academy Award nominee, Joaquin Phoenix – to revisit another of history’s most written about leaders, Napoleon Bonaparte of France. With more historically accurate locations and just as many period-appropriate costumes as in his turn of the century fable, this life and times of France’s great-then-disgraced general should be a lot more affecting than it actually is. This bullet point journey through Bonaparte’s rise and fall from power doesn’t make powerful comment on the corruption of man, nor does it evaluate the emperor’s influence on war or peace, on Europe or France or the United Kingdom or Russia. In fact, it doesn’t say much at all…

It would be difficult to chronicle Napoleon’s story and fail to capture the imagination in one way or another. This is one of history’s most important figures, an emblem of power and greed. His various roles in post-revolution France took him across continents, saw him as the figurehead of coups, and brought about the deaths of more than one million people. His was a life filled with so many historically significant events, moments, and decisions, that anyone with so much as an Encyclopaedia Britannica could recount his story with at least some drama, shock and awe. The issue with this $200million film is that the script does little more than precisely that, recounting the significant moments of his leadership as if listing them out of a book, with a cheap and at times barely legible love angle tacked on to evoke empathy and provide commentary on the events that come fast and often with little context.

Joaquin Phoenix tries his best. He dominates every scene, embodying a character he clearly sees as more of a creature than a man. Under his spell, Napoleon Bonaparte is worthy of attention, a character whom we are desperate to investigate, to interrogate. But the film doesn’t allow for that. As we depart the beheading of Marie Antoinette in revolution-era France to first meet our subject, Phoenix is not unlike a lion with his jaw clenched, his eyes glazed, his uniform as extravagant and symbolic as a mane. There is so much promise held within this introduction – a potentially world-shifting performance, some spectacular wardrobe work, effective framing and blocking – and instead it sadly becomes emblematic of a film that leaves so much of its potential unfulfilled.

The bullet point journey through Napoleon’s conquests, political manoeuvres, and exiles, requires an emotional core for any potential audience to attach to, and it finds that in the would-be emperor’s marriage to his beloved Josephine. Vanessa Kirby embodies the infamous leader’s muse as if a witch who has cast a spell, and the Oscar-nominated performer’s turn is at times just as beguiling as Phoenix’s. Together, they never hit the highs of some of their other on-screen relationships (Phoenix in Her, Kirby in Pieces of a Woman), nor is their relationship as moving as that presented by Mel Gibson and Catherine McCormack in Braveheart, or as lustful as that presented by Omar Sharif and Julie Christie in Doctor Zhivago. There isn’t even a sense of dangerous plotting as underlined by the incestuous relationship hinted at between Phoenix and Connie Nielsen in Gladiator, which at least provoked a reaction. In Napoleon, Phoenix and Kirby are believably brought together, but they are far from enchanted by one another, and as time passes and events occur, you expect that to become part of the commentary on Napoleon’s lack of humanity, but it doesn’t. Napoleon instead frames this relationship as the beating heart of its subject, as the primary motivating factor, the biggest achievement, the biggest regret. And the film only takes brief moments to dissect this, or even present a valid argument as to how the relationship motivated the man to achieve otherworldly horrors. Theirs is a story that runs parallel to the story of Napoleon’s “achievements”, evolving from time to time but largely suffering from the same “this happens and then this happens and then this happens” that plagues the rest of the tale.

Beyond the limitations of David Scarpa’s screenplay, which was no doubt limited in its potential by the vast period of time it sought to cover (a period of more than 25 years), and the effects this has on Claire Simpson’s editing and pacing of the film, Napoleon does achieve a lot cinematically. First and foremost, the costume work is spectacular. David Crossman and Janty Yates’ work in costuming is nothing short of stellar, and a glimpse at the level of quality many expected a modern Ridley Scott historical epic to achieve. Everyone looks unique and period-appropriate, but the smaller details on the limited selection of main characters are worthy of the biggest screen possible and plenty of critical acclaim. Similarly, the production design by Arthur Max is a significant factor in bringing cinematic qualities to scenes that are otherwise inconsequential or at least far from unmissable. The party and governmental scenes are where the latter shines the brightest, some sequences decked out and presented as if the period’s great paintings.

Ridley Scott must be commended for his role in bringing this to life, too. Some shots are of the highest cinematic calibre, a master clearly touching on the greatness that has been foundational to his visually impressive career to date. His party scenes are filled with life, there are unique physical qualities to many of the major historical figures at play in the story, and he seems intent on ensuring that not a single battle is presented in as bland a fashion as many other director’s have long since settled. His work with cinematographer Dariusz Wolski in the capturing of cold, of fog, of early morning winter sunrises, imbues the piece with a sense of reality and ensures that nobody can be bored by the achievements held within each frame. Some sequences, such as the one in which Napoleon takes Moscow, are worthy even of a highlight reel that includes The Duellists, Alien, Blade Runner, Thelma & Louise and Gladiator.

As has often been the case in more recent Scott movies, there are also shots, scenes and sometimes even entire sequences that seem absent of his once unique and form-topping touch. Early on, it is easy to be removed from the reality of the time period courtesy of poor CGI, such as that showing Joaquin Phoenix riding a horse on a beach or large crowds resembling AI renditions more than actual people. The picture is also so awash with greys that it seems more like a mid-2000s early digital filmmaking release than even Scott’s own from that era. Some night time shots are utterly spectacular, and seem to be of the same school as those celebrated in Jordan Peele’s Nope, but there are vast periods in which everything looks washed out, and it is almost certain that minutes of this film will be barely legible (too dark) to anyone who eventually watches it at home.

Ridley Scott has spoken a lot in the press tour for Napoleon about how his movies do not need to be historically accurate. When a film seeks to explore something thematically, personally, or ideologically, then Scott is most certainly correct. Film is art, and art seeks truth rather than fact. Gladiator worked because of this perspective, because of how it abandoned fact in search of the truth held within the myth. But Napoleon doesn’t do that. It presents moment after moment from the history books, often inaccurately out of negligence as opposed to deeper purpose. There is no doubt that a lot of care and artistry can be seen on screen in Napoleon, but that negligence will be the story of this film: a movie that could have been great, that could have meant something, that could have simply been accurate, and ended up being none of those things. Like Napoleon himself, Napoleon thinks itself as greater than it is. It isn’t insulting like Ridley Scott’s idea of Napoleon firing canons into the Great Pyramid of Giza was to historians the world over, but it does offer only glimmers at its full might. Some individual pieces are greater than the whole in this instance, and what a shame that is. This should have been special.

Score: 15/24

Recommended for you: Ridley Scott Films Ranked

Thanksgiving (2023)
Director: Eli Roth
Screenwriters: Jeff Rendel
Starring: Patrick Dempsey, Nell Verlaque, Addison Rae, Rick Hoffman, Milo Manheim, Jalen Thomas Brooks, Gina Gershon

There were quite a few issues with the Quentin Tarantino/Robert Rodriguez exploitation double feature ‘Grindhouse’ from 2007, with Rodriguez’s film Planet Terror admittedly being the superior film to Tarantino’s Death Proof, which whilst not awful, is certainly his worst film so far. What was possibly the best part of both films were the opening few minutes, which contained mock trailers for exploitation horror films before the main feature. Out of these came Rodriguez’s Machete in 2010, which somehow has become Danny Trejo’s modern day calling card, and Hobo with a Shotgun starring Rutger Hauer in 2011. Now, twelve years after the last feature-length version, and sixteen years after the fake trailer short film first aired in the double bill, Eli Roth brings us Thanksgiving, a pure exploitation slasher flick of the greatest kind.

Following a massacre at a Black Friday sale at RightMart, the next year’s thanksgiving is rightly looked to with apprehension. Demonstrations to close down the store, comments towards the store owner’s daughter, Jessica (played by Nell Verlaque), and the return to town of her old boyfriend, Bobby (played by Thomas Brooks) are just small parts of it. The more pressing issue is that someone has stolen an axe from a mock-up of John Carver’s ancestral home, and there are a load of masks of his face being handed around for the upcoming parade. Someone is back for revenge, and this time there will be no leftovers. So says the tagline.

The poster designs for Thanksgiving have shown clearly where the film’s interests lie, as four are variations of old slasher posters, from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) to Halloween (1978). The original Grindhouse short was very much a love letter to these films of the seventies and eighties. However, it would be remiss to say that Thanksgiving is simply an 80s tribute, because whilst there are moments (even referencing slightly lesser known entries like Prom Night and even Happy Birthday To Me), there’s as much praise given to the neo-slashers of the modern era. The slick stylings of Kevin Williamson-penned slashers like Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer are front and centre, and Roth’s swift direction and Rendel’s dialogue make it clear that this is a modern film which isn’t interested in replicating the crackly quality of the 80s, as the film Abrakadabra (2018) did to stylistically replicate the 70s giallo. There’s as much tribute paid to old schlock like My Bloody Valentine and New Year’s Evil (80s slashers, after Halloween, took any national holiday they could to make a film around) as there is to Happy Death Day. Thanksgiving is traditional in sentiment and tropes, but modern in its slick execution.

It is precisely this balance that makes Thanksgiving so fun to watch. Yes, it’s violent to the extreme, with gnarly gore and twisted deaths, and if that’s not your cup of tea then the film won’t be for you, but this amount of red meat is to be expected of Roth, who has never shied away from ripping off body parts for the past twenty years. Yes, the formula is baked into the film’s very existence, and Roth never tries for a single second to step away from it. It is cliched to the hilt, shining its axe blade to a finely honed edge of horror formula. Yes, it never for a second tries to do a single thing which might be considered new or innovative or interesting from a standpoint of pushing things forward.

Yet that is the exact point of the film. This is a love letter to all of the teen slasher’s history, from Blood and Black Lace’s giallo beginnings to the most recent Scream films. The characters are stock but well acted, music by Brandon Roberts in the now-traditional orchestral stylings that Marco Beltrami used to great effect in Scream doing its job, and everything slots together nicely in the final product.

There’s a strong anti-capitalist message which comes and goes in varying strength depending on when the plot calls for it, and the clunkiness of its execution in this department isn’t going to score it any points, but there is, at least, something in there. It doesn’t simply use teen technology as a joke, although it also doesn’t put its full weight behind using it to give the message of the viral nature of crime and the desensitisation to violence as it seems to think it is doing. Perhaps this would be explored in a sequel, as the film certainly leaves enough scope and enough lingering doubts as to warrant it. There are no loose ends, but there’s a feeling that things aren’t all said and done.

For the most part, however, Thanksgiving does exactly what it says it’s going to. It gives a good, bloody slasher flick with confident writing and directing, and whilst it never achieves anything distinctly new, it is as monolithic a tribute to the slasher film as there ever has been, without going postmodern and meta to name-and-shame every film it stole a shot from. It feels very much like a film which heralds the end of an era for the slasher film, as the reboots of Halloween and Scream have seemed to begin to usher in a new wave of the formula. The film holds its axe high to the world and confidently, without shame, declares, ‘I am a slasher film, and I love it.’

Score: 18/24